


The Principality Of Sherrinford

by Vanaria Publishing Co (Vanaria_Publishing_Co)



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock AU - Fandom
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 05:06:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16886175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanaria_Publishing_Co/pseuds/Vanaria%20Publishing%20Co
Summary: Russia and China have allied finally against the West and a weakened UK, and the endgame is catastrophe in the night.Cameos throughout.Sherrinford becomes the Last Stand in a way no one could have ever imagined, and while not every one survives to see the show, it's guaranteed to kill.





	1. The Overture Of A Fractured Mind, Or, How The World Fell.

  


Jim waited, as Mycroft insisted, not because he desired to do so, but because he was shackled at the ankles and behind his back, as well as literally collared around the neck, as if he were some circus freak receiving a new domicile. His luck, as he had been warned so many times, had at last run out, and the British Government had grown weary of patience and tolerance. Sherlock’s words had only angered and aggravated the man further, and now in the office here on the remote and desolate island where Sherrinford Institute stood, the company kept was neither pleased nor pleasant. They had argued for hours now, and the television flickered oddly, ignored, till the flickering changed to a civil defence notice - and a live announcement.

“Good morning, this is an emergency broadcast from Civil Defence. At approximately 3:12 AM, Downing Street and the Palace, as well as several other high level locations in London, were breached and infiltrated by Chinese paratroopers. For reasons we cannot yet explain, there was no resistance by the military, who have been engaged for the last seven weeks off the coasts holding off raids from the joint Russo-Sine alliance hostilities. The Palace, and all Government holdings in the United Kingdom have been seized, and all officials arrested and removed to an unknown location. This is an emergency broadcast from Civil Defence.”

A long, raspy blare of alert-sound.  
  
All the people crowded into the Office were frozen in place, even Moriarty.

Repetition.

“This is an emergency broadcast from Civil Defence. The United States has fallen to the Russo-Sine Alliance. The President signed over the rights and responsibilities to Chinese President Xi, and Russian President Putin, at 4:58 AM. The United States is now known as the United States of The People’s Republic Of America.”  
  
The broadcast cut off. White noise, fuzz. Mycroft’s face reflected, cold, a dead man sitting up.   
  
They all turned to look at him.   
  
“Well …”

  
The sound of his harsh swallow cut the air.

  
  
“I … guess ...this changes things.” He cleared his throat.   
  
  
“.............a _little_.”

 

 


	2. If Wishes Were Horses ( Rides Would Be Free )

  


The man holding the chain attached to Jim Moriarty’s neck-collar - let’s not call it a leash - adopted a sudden grave expression that was rare for him.

 

Ruderick Urar remembered his mother and dad, his brother. Remembered Home. Wondered why he’d taken this job. This job that paid so well, and seemed to never end. A seven day gig that was in that many weeks now, and all to guard a tiny pipsqueak with a big mouth. Irish, or something. Rude was American. Texas... San Antonio born and bred, and then transplanted down to Galveston, right off the coast. Sunny days, beautiful nights. Paradise? But boys if they prevail will endure to become men, and when Rude did so he chose a life in security and black ops. This was part of that life, private jobs that might entail literally anything. And right now he sat holding another man’s _leash_.

 

Oh, and the Western World was taking a shit, too, just by the way. This was going to be a fun morning.

 

China and Russia had decided to fuck their way in to the Chosen Land, and as the USA went, so went the rest. The irony was the likelihood that the little prick who sat next to him could very well be the whole reason all this was happening. Rude suddenly had to fight off a rather pressing urge to blacken those dark eyes. _Easy .. easy._

  
“So I’m just going to say it, I did not do this.”

  
Lushly Gaelic accented words caressed the cold early morning air, and Mycroft snapped his head to look towards Jim sharply. As if to call him out, but instead, his response was completely different:

“No, you didn’t. And you have me to thank for not adding to your personal sins, Jim. I know what it would have meant to you to bring down the works. I could not really allow you to soil yourself further by doing so.” He came out from behind the desk, and unsnapped the collar from around his neck, but removed no other restraints. “This is for Rude’s comfort, not yours. You haven’t been harmed yet by me, at any time. At least …”  His smile gleamed feral, out of place with the current state of apocalypse underway. “Not that we haven’t both enjoyed.”  
  
Rude shuddered.   
  
Christ, he wanted out of here.   
  
Pack of sickos.

 

Jim sprawled out, and Rude saw his eyes were on Sherlock Holmes. He had listened to Mycroft, Sherlock and Jim argue about Jim’s fate for hours, since they arrived here at just after midnight last night. Words like therapy, lithium, restraints, prognosis, had all been used by Mycroft, and Sherlock had chosen less stable phrases, directed to his elder brother: Grandstanding, control freak, jealous, insecure, childish, cruel. Merely a sampling. Moriarty? Harshly screamed and clearly empty threats, which very quickly lowered to soft-tongued curses and then - promises of things that Rude utterly loathed having to bear witness to. Rude had the ugly impression this was their lives. Dysfunctional and insane.

 

Dawn rose on the few here in the very large Office of the British Government.

 

Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes, Greg Lestrade, Rude Urar, Mycroft himself.

 

As the sun rose on the island on which Sherrinford sat, a boat was drug ashore by a weary young man with brilliant vermillion hair who muttered under his breath virulent curses in his native Russian. The man had been given the code name Reno, though his birth name had  been Andreivich Kuznetsov. He had worked for the SVR until Putin had begun to become _so_ repressive that even some of the agents were having trouble bearing up under it. But when things had started to go to shit, his dreams of fleeing to seek refuge in the US had gone up in smoke, and he’d fled Russia with two thumb drives containing intelligence data that if he was ever _caught_ he’d be killed for. He’d been holed up in an embassy in London, then Britain had fallen and he’d had to yet again flee, this time to a God forsaken island out in the middle of nowhere.

 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. The threats had stopped, and he’d gone utterly silent, just those cold eyes that seemed to bore into Jim’s, speaking clearly of how he felt about this whole mess. He was angry, and even if the other man _wasn’t_ to blame for all of this, he was pretty sure the Irishman certainly had _no_ problem with the fact that it had happened. He was just a stone pillar, turning all of the frigid force of his will on breaking James Moriarty through those glares that would freeze the blood of any lesser man.

  


Greg Lestrade had listened to some of the worst tripe he’d ever had to bear witness to, but in his usual quiet manner, he tolerated and bore it gamely.

His eyes happened to catch Jim’s, not wanting to, in fact having tried to avoid eye contact, but there it was. Lestrade had arrested Jim for his commitment here, and they’d had sex on the way to Scotland Yard, all the while pursued by a reckless Sherlock Holmes right on their asses. “He’d shoot you, Greggy.” Jim had laughed, as they fucked in the back of the black van, Jim’s legs around his shoulders. “Can you even imagine? Ooooo that’s it my Piggie, do me good ...mmmm who knows when we can do this again …” Jim didn’t realize this was about being committed, he’d expected to merely be interrogated and then eventually released. Same old same old. He had no idea, and Greg hadn’t had the heart to tell him. Jim was going to hate him and it broke something in Lestrade’s soul.

Being in love with a mortal enemy was idiotic.

When the chopper had lifted off and Jim got it … Lestrade had avoided looking into those eyes. Eyes somehow sad, last night. Sad, like a human being’s. Greg had betrayed him, and with all of Moriarty’s crimes and sins, that mattered.

  


Mycroft raised a hand as a harried looking assistant murmured something to him, and then retreated out of the half dark room once again. Mycroft frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Rude, I’d like you to go down to the coast and see what’s going on, apparently someone is joining our party … in a rowboat!” A rowboat, yet. Well, it was hardly going to be some lethal threat from the Enemy. Or .. was it. He gestured impatiently as Rude was very slow to move, far too slow -- and the big man got up, nodding. Did not even look back at Moriarty. Or any of the others, only headed down to the coastline. Well ……..no false alarm, then.

  

Rude made it down to the shore.

“Ahoy there, matey.”  
  
Pretty fucking stupid.   
  
Rude found he didn’t care. Everything was gone back home, back … back in _all_ homes. So if he wanted to be a snarky moron, he’d go for it and damned well right. “This is a secure Island. But … guess you’re just looking for safe haven? Name? “

 

“Andreivich Kuznetsov” _Stupid, stupid stupid. Pridurok. You gave this Amerikanski your_ _real name_ _! Now he’s going to know you’re Russian and shoot you._ “Please don’t kill me. I’m trying to escape all of this insanity just like the rest of you are! I swear to you! I’ve been holed up in the embassy in London, then it fell to Putin and I had to escape, or be killed vhen I vas caught.” His accent, embarrassingly, began leaking through in his panic, all of his training going out of the window when terror set in. “Look into your police services, Interpol. You’ll see Putin vould pay a king’s ransom to get me back so he could see me put to death.”

He took the two thumb drives from his pocket. “Here, take zese. I brought zem vith me vhen I ran. Zere is intelligence information, many many gigabyte vorth of it, on zese. He vould kill me to get zis back, but I vanted someone who could bring him down to have it. I could not give it to people at ze embassy because I did not trust zem. I am not entirely sure I trust you, either, but you are ze only choice I have left.”

 

  
Jim spoke up, and now he was out to lend his own special brand of poison to the air.

“Spare me the little angry glances, darling. You were on my side, my ally, my advocate, till this went down. Now you believe I had something to do with it, no matter what Ice Man just said. No matter what, you’ll believe it. I don’t care, if you were a fragment of the Ultragenius you believe yourself to be, you’d know that if I did this, I’d take credit no matter what happened to me for it. Oh by the way, you’re also more of a bastard now because you realize John _fucking_ ‘Wife’ Watson is dead dead dead. Funny now, you can blame that on me, even with me not exactly volunteering to be dragged off to here. Also, Greggy fucked me on the way to SY. It was a lovely lay.”  Jim looked over to Greg, and smiled. Cheating was such a delicious weapon, and Sherlock shared so, so very badly.    
  
This was about punishing Sherlock, but even more, crucifying Lestrade.   
  
Jim laughed.   
  
“What a happy family we’re going to be.”

 

“You may not have done it, James, but I know you don’t mind that it has.” Sherlock’s tone was icy,  Then the news about Greg, and the full force of his rage turned on Lestrade, eyes going from ice to a terrifying flame. The man would have been _dead_ , right there and then, had Mycroft not been sitting right there. Instead of doing what he would have so _dearly_ loved to do, he strode from the room.

The last sound that would be heard would be the slamming of the bathroom door, so hard as to nearly tear it off its hinges, and the shattering of the mirror over the sink.

  


Mycroft hissed between his teeth, and slammed a book down on his desk, the sound hollow.

“Are you all ...children?! Do you not get what’s going on, what’s happened, what all has changed? The fact that they may come here at any time? All of the personal politics, Moriarty’s whoring, Sherlock’s jealous obsessions, my own trusted Inspector’s _completely_ illegal tryst with a criminal …”  Mycroft shot Lestrade a look that said so much more. “None of that matters anymore. It isn’t about us. It isn’t even about you, Jim, I know that’s going to blow your mind. The free world is done. It’s over. The irony is Moriarty here has been playing up to and cuddling in bed with - knowing Jim, perhaps literally - these tyrants, Putin, Xi, their flunkies … and yet they’ll take his freedoms away just as surely. Take more than that, take your life, too. They won’t care. I know, I know, you don’t believe it, you feel yourself special, their friend. You aren’t their friend. They have friends, they don’t include you. One of the last communications we intercepted contained orders from Putin to terminate ‘M’ on sight, once in London. “

Jim made an odd sound, his face twisting slightly. “What ..”  “You heard me.” Mycroft spared him no more attention and looked over to Greg.

“I’d fire you. Unfortunately, you’re the best in this town, Inspector. Lucky you.”

The betrayal and cold hurt explained the rest, and he sat back down. Silent again.

  
  
Rude gaped.

He accepted the small thumb drives, in shock.

“Come on then, buddy. Let’s get you where you can talk to the poobah who’s really in charge around here. Uh … can I ask .. what’s the last you heard of what’s going on back … well ...in civilization?”  He wanted to ask about where his parents were, but how the hell was this bedraggled, exhausted man going to know about that. He didn’t ask. Texas was light years off, far and away. The past. Rude refused to allow himself to even consider the ideas that bounced in his head, of what might have happened to his whole family back in Galveston - no. He didn’t need to be doing that, it wasn’t going to go anywhere good. They were just average people, there was no point in harming or purging them. And there was no point when it happened all over the world, and had, for eons, right?  
  
“I bet you’re hungry. I guess .. this is home now.” Rude smiled a little, forcing it.  “Come on.”   
  
He led the way.

Feeling older than his years.

 

  
Jim Moriarty turned to Lestrade for one last clawing.

 

“You never should have done this to me.”  
  
“Jim, if I hadn’t gone, someone else just would have, I was trying to ensure your safe--”

“No, no, no. You came to get me because I trusted you. And now … no one will ever trust _you_ again.“

  
  
Lestrade did not argue the idea.  
  
  
  
After all  ... it was true.  
  



End file.
